How to Go to Prison in Five Easy Steps
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Folsom Prison Blues pre-tag: There were a few things Dean wanted to make sure of first.


_Dedicated to Phx, Geminigrl11, and Tyranusfan, because they wondered_**  
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**How to Go to Prison in Five Easy Steps**  
K Hanna Korossy

**Tuesday**

"Who was that?" Sam asked distractedly as Dean slipped back into the room.

"Oh, uh," Dean scratched the back of his head, "Deacon, remember him? Old Marine buddy of Dad's? He thinks he might have a job for us."

That brought Sam's head up. "Yeah? Like what?"

Dean shrugged, eyes quickly sliding away from Sam to his duffel. "Let me check it out first—might not be anything," he said casually.

Sam returned to his computer. "Yeah, all right."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief, then hesitated. "Hey, Sam. You ever get anywhere with those symbols you were researching, the anti-possession tats?"

00000

**Friday**

"Okay," Dean said very seriously, "I have a few ground rules."

Deacon nodded, crossing his arms. "Shoot."

"You keep an eye on Sam, and I mean every second of the day. He can take care of himself, but the guy's too pretty for his own good, and he _looks_ soft. I don't want anyone even making a move on him, got it?"

Deacon smiled a little and held up his hands. "I wouldn't be asking this if I wasn't sure I could keep you safe, Dean. Both of you."

"Okay." Dean nodded, slightly mollified. "Okay. Next, I asked an old friend of ours to play backup, so anything goes wrong, you call him." He handed the paper over. "He's gonna call, too, if he doesn't hear from us in three days."

"Dean," Deacon grinned knowingly, "Sam'll be okay, I promise."

Dean scowled at him. "Yeah, well…he better be."

00000

**Saturday**

"I don't like this."

Dean sat on the edge of the bed, watching his brother pace. "Yeah, you said that already." Nine friggin' times. "Dude, it's Deacon. We owe him."

Sam stopped to stare at him. "Dean, it's _prison. _No weapons, can't-watch-each-other's-backs, under-our-own-names lock-up with no computers, no place to go if things get out of hand, no backup—"

"Deacon'll be there all the time, Sam, and Jeff's second-line. We're not going in this cold."

"And what about your claustrophobia, huh? You think about that?"

Yeah, he had, queasily. Dean shrugged with effort. "I'll deal."

"Right, you'll deal," Sam said with heavy skepticism. But Dean could see his fear plainly, and not just for himself. "Dean…I don't know about this…"

"Sam." He stood, in Sam's space, eye-to-eye. Dead serious. "You really think I'd want to do this if I didn't have it all worked out? If I wasn't positive we'd be safe in there and could get out when we were done? C'mon, man, I'm not an idiot."

"Yeah, you are," Sam grumbled heatlessly, and that was the moment Dean knew he'd won. When Sam actually _looked _at him, and a little of his fear thawed.

Dean gave him a small smile. Then he tipped his head. "Oh, you got an extra epi-pen with you? I wanna make sure Deacon has one. Probably aren't any bees in Sing-Sing, but can't be too careful."

Sam groaned.

00000

**Monday**

"Dude, I'm like that guy in _Prison Break_!"

"He was the younger brother, and he had tattoos all over his torso, not just one small one," Sam said crushingly, opening the car door with stiff movements. He'd been tight-lipped through the whole procedure, and Dean had only remembered partway in how much Sammy as a kid had hated needles. The long, hilarious story of Dad versus a pair of spinster ghosts that Dean had quickly launched into had only fractionally untightened that clenched jaw. "He got inked because he had to go in and get his moron older brother out," Sam finished.

"Hey, the older brother was framed." Dean wasn't touching the _moron _part, not while Sam was looking at him like that. He pulled his Henley away from his chest and peered at the bandage underneath. "You sure this'll do the job? Same as Bobby's charms?"

Sam eased himself into the front seat, left arm tucked against his ribcage. "You wanna go find a demon and test it?" he snapped from inside the car.

It wasn't unexpected, but Dean lurched to a halt by his door anyway. That wasn't even a little funny, not after the last few months and Meg.

Sam seemed to realize that at the same moment, and swung back out of the car, gaze painfully earnest over the roof. "Dean, I didn't—"

Dean shrugged, hiding a wince as the bandage and inflamed skin pulled. "Look, I'm not forcing you to do this, Sam. If you want out—"

Sam's mouth twisted up. "And leave you to go in alone? No, Dean."

"I can tell Deacon we can't do it." Maybe he should have made that offer before, because Sam almost looked relieved at that. They owed Deacon…but Dean owed his brother more.

Sam was silent for a long moment, gaze distant. Then refocusing on Dean. "The symbols'll do the job. We would've had to get them anyway. It wouldn't hurt to give them a few days to heal up, but—"

"Then we'll wait a few days," Dean said promptly.

Sam's gaze lingered, before he nodded and slid back into the car. Dean joined him this time.

And suddenly smiled. "Tell you what, you get to pick where we're arrested."

00000

**Thursday**

"I hate leaving her behind," Dean said with a frown, hand tightening on the steering wheel.

Sam glanced at him, then at the dashboard, and his expression shifted. "Right. The worst thing about going to prison is leaving the _car _behind."

And his ring, and his amulet, and Bobby's charms, already tucked into a hidden compartment in the trunk. He wouldn't say it to Sam, but Dean felt naked without them. Which in another situation might have been awesome, but now just felt…vulnerable.

It wasn't like he had a lot. Except Sam. At least Sam would be with him inside…for better or for worse.

Dean rolled the tension out of his shoulders, feeling the odd, tiny crease of the fake scar across his upper back, and the flexible file it hid. Every precaution taken. "You realize Deacon's gonna have to _drive_her to Green River," he said with just the right amount of whine.

"She'll survive," Sam said, wholly unsympathetic.

"Yeah, but will I?"

Sam turned to look at him, too long and focused and knowing. "Yeah. You will."

Dean snorted, feeling stupidly reassured.

He pulled the car into the parking garage three blocks from the museum, onto the third level as agreed on with Deacon. He turned the motor off, then just sat. Sam, all in black, was merely a shadow at his side in the dim garage, but Dean always knew he was there.

This had to be his worst plan ever.

Dean dropped his hand on the door handle and took a breath. "Let's do this."

**The End**


End file.
